Poetry Quotes - Page 33

A dragon grows in leaps and bounds,Like troubles mounting by the pound.Its stature heightens day to day,Imposing dread and deep dismay.A paralyzing roar it gainsWhile from its snout hot fire rains.It sees you shrink. Your fear it knows.And by the hour the nightmare grows.Unless you slay the dragon soon,Your troubles may become your doom.

Richelle E. Goodrich

There are no good tights, Rare they are, a rare sight. You roll and roll Inside a new hole, They´re only good for a fight.

Ana Claudia Antunes

WINTER'S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter’s ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver

Tamara Rendell

You tell me that yes, I can do it. I know. And I may do it, if I so choose.You tell me that no, I cannot. I say, Oh? I shall do it, since you refuse!

Richelle E. Goodrich

Release-For yearsthey told you tosit.Stay.Now they open the doorand tell you toget up.Leave.Where do you gowith no oneto show youthe way?

Keelie Breanna

I do not fear the nightWhen I know that todayI am bathed in a lightIt cannot be stolen away

Holly Ducarte

my mine ,I searching for you ..long time in the trip time walls,searching you in was me..I never felt lonely,this world always singeven at grave heart'sbeing numb to hearyour song is ..What the dealt of this life saidso breathe in wind singingsinking sailing in waves,and breathe out find me..in the rain and riversbut you and me are the ocean,you know ? in long time agothe time in this room make you forget..keep searching time with me and i.put the name your mine to heart of golduntil you coming home,behind the tumble light waiting.

Ridwan Nurwansyah

Choice-Judgement.Black coffee acidon an empty stomach.Perception.Cool, clear water.

Keelie Breanna

The Pressure-Maybe one day,after centuries,we can become brilliant gemsin crystal cavesand we will be immortal after all.

Keelie Breanna

The only time she's come close to being "known" was when she accidentally came out as bisexual during sophomore English class while talking about her favorite poem.

C.B. Lee

I dreamt of you last night,vivid and consuming andgone as I woke upfaded from memory before I had the chanceto collect and recollectEven in my dreams you are ephemeraland just outside of reach- Fleeting

Abby Rosmarin

El remanso de airebajo la rama del eco.El remanso del aguabajo fronda de luceros.El remanso de tu bocabajo espesura de besos.*The still waters of the airunder the bough of the echo.The still waters of the waterunder a frond of stars.The still waters of your mouthunder a thicket of k

Federico García Lorca

Our situation is intolerable, but what's worseis to sit here and do nothing.

Rita Dove

She's shed her skinsand plasma jeans, gets around in 2Kretro gear like the frock she wears today;a loose, white elegy to what's been lost.Already she's flowing back into herselfthe way a river flows to fill a creek bed.But some hard layer has washed awayand left her softer, more interested.

Lisa Jacobson.

Time is spent never bought. Minutes count when seconds blur. Memories are past that’s caught. Imaginings are future’s lure.”Cass and Silver Rainbow-

Vaun Murphrey

Are you just a car salesman or are you a poet too?” “I've never been accused of poetry before.

Robert Charles Wilson

Knowing me better than I think anyone shouldExcept, perhapsNo, probablyNo, definitelyDefinitely except you

Thalia Circe

[About describing atomic models in the language of classical physics:]We must be clear that when it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry. The poet, too, is not nearly so concerned with describing facts as with creating images and establishing mental connections.

Niels Bohr

Dining at the rare reasonTo get between the circumstanceAnd start milking the Caesars For what enters the earsAnd is for their eyes to air and advise.

Initially NO

..i spill intothe kind of silenceonly Khalil Gibran would understand.

Sanober Khan

Oh that's right Keep away from me Please give me a pushDon't let me understand you Don't realise meOr we might tumble togetherDepersonalizedIdenticalInto the terrific NirvanaMe you --- you --- me

Mina Loy

There is hardly a limit to the knowledge and sympathy a man may have in respect of the finest things, and yet be a fool. Sympathy is not harmony. A man may be a poet even, and speak with the tongue of an angel, and yet be a very bad fool.

George MacDonald

To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand,

Walt Whitman

There was a time when I do not understand poetry.

Lailah Gifty Akita

I cannot breathe, or see, nor swim,My darkness is composed of him.

Nenia Campbell

Wrath crawled out from the well,on direction from Hell,to get back what it once lost.With vengeance in mind,it set out to find,a specified soul to accost.When the Hell-well beckoned,Mother’s will now reckoned,her dead soul now wholly enslaved.Embodied in a rotting husk,the corpse reeked of putrid musk,her being wholly depraved.

A. Lee Brock

Envy said, “Girl, I remember well,ye, who I flung from Hell,and not a day has passed, I haven’t missedthe loss of your soul that I mourned,I’ve been bereft and forlorn,for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss.But no worries—bygones,that’s the past—long gone,I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way.And though your family they did swindlemy joy of flaying ye on a spindle, I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play.So, merely toss your token in my well,and all your dreams I will unveil,for ye alone, them I’ll grant.Come closer, little Penny,your hands I know are not empty,ye have something I dreadfully want.

A. Lee Brock

In hundreds of years of wish fulfillment,never once to the demon’s bereavement,had a wish gone unable to be yielded.It was love this day, which defeated the curse,and there in Hell there was little worse,than the dark forces of evil gone unwielded.

A. Lee Brock

Rain turned to ice,and lightning splintered, it splicedthe black sky, it seeped a bright white.All animals they fled,from the sky as it bled,pale death that fell veiling the night.

A. Lee Brock

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.

Edgar Allan Poe

Love is an exorcism of angels.

Stephanie M. Wytovich

If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.

E.A. Bucchianeri

Share your dreams and they will be inspired. Plant seeds of knowledge and they will grow and reproduce beyond measure.

Terry a O'Neal

THE CONSCIOUS HUMANYou are not just white,but a rainbow of colors.You are not just black,but golden.You are not just a nationality,but a citizen of the world.You are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.Suzy Kassem“The Conscious Human” Poetry by Suzy Kassem

Suzy Kassem

I was certain of the uncertainty thatlied ahead which made you A risk,A mystery,And the most annihilating thing I have ever known.

akhil shah

I write about scoundrels; my specialty is generally scoundrels. If somebody's done a bad thing, I just talk about it. I don't prettify it or anything. My characters, a lot of them are disgusting — what they've done in the past. Somebody described them once as "last-ditch attempts at justification." And sometimes that's what my characters or my personae are doing: they're saying, "Yes, I did this and that thing, and perhaps it was evil. It was bad — maybe it wasn't even evil — but this is why I did it. You don't know the circumstances surrounding it." And this is the telling; they're almost retelling what happened from their point of view .... I use "bad words" whenever I feel the need, you know, I just put 'em in there — if it's true to my character. I always like to think that I'm doing things that are true to my charcter. And I hope that, when I'm dealing with violence, for example, that it's not gratuitous, that it's coming out of character that requires that .... I usually start with character, rather than a concept or an idea. If I do want to deal with an idea, I must create a character, in order to work from there, from that angle.

Moth: I gave you my life. Flame: I allowed you to kiss me.

Hazrat Inayat Khan

As lines, so loves oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.

Andrew Marvell

Fate is a cruelly sweet fruit.

Jun Mochizuki

The ecstatic beauty and soulful grace of Rumi’s poetry inspires human hearts to believe in possibilities beyond the predictably fatal.

Aberjhani

Winter is already a lost shape, forgottenin the ground. Instead, here is Springwith all the grace of a womansmoothing out her apron.

Cecilia Llompart

What grace I have is enough.

Theodore Roethke

Petals don't ask Where to landThey just fall With grace.

Sheniz Janmohamed

I do understand that they fall when I'm least able to pay attention because poems fall not from a tree, really, but from the richly pollinated boughs of an ordinary life, buzzing, as lives do, with clamor and glory. They are easy to miss but everywhere: poetry just is, whether we revere it or try to put it in prison. It is elementary grace, communicated from one soul to another.

Barbara Kingsolver

If there is passion, let me feel its heat.I want my heart to beat fast,my breath raspy, my skin to burn.

Susie Clevenger

I had loved poetry and the theatre. Now I loved adventure more.

Sara Sheridan

No reprimand in the mirrorSlow walk to LiberiaSlow dance across the SaharaSlow unraveling of gray matter

Mellon Black

You are now 18standing on the precipice,trembling before your own greatness.This is your call to leap.There will always being those who say you are too young and delicate to make anything happen for yourself. They don’t see the part of you that smolders.Don’t let their doubting drown out the sound of your own heartbeat.You are the first drop of a hurricane.Your bravery builds beyond youYou are needed by all the little girls still living in secret, writing oceans made of monsters andthrowing like lightening.You don’t need to grow up to find greatness.You are stronger than the world has ever believed you to be.The world is waiting for you to set it on fireTrust in yourselfand burn.

Clementine von Radics

If I live...I will live unafraid...I will live so all can see,I am not ashamed of who I am or what I'm designed to be!"-The Great Mephisto

Daniel Von der Ahe

They were learning that New York had another life, too — subterranean, like almost everything that was human in the city — a life of writers meeting in restaurants at lunchtime or in coffee houses after business hours to talk of work just started or magazines unpublished, and even to lay modest plans for the future. Modestly they were beginning to write poems worth the trouble of reading to their friends over coffee cups. Modestly they were rebelling once more.

Malcolm Cowley

To write a poem you must have a streak of arrogance-- not in real life I hope. In real life try to be nice. It will save you a hell of a lot of trouble and give you more time to write.

Richard Hugo

Poetry creates the myth, the prose writer draws its portrait.

Jean-Paul Sartre

The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.

Helen Bevington

The centuries are sprinkled with rare magicwith divine creatureswho help us get past the common and extraordinary ills that beset us

Charles Bukowski

Here the children have a custom. After the celebration of evil they take those vacant heads that shone once with such anguish and glee and throw them over the bridge, watching the smash, orange, as they hit below, We were standing underneath when you told it. People do that with themselves when they are finished, light scooped out. He landed here, you said, marking it with your foot.You wouldn't do it that way, empty, you wouldn't wait, you would jump with the light still in you.

Margaret Atwood

JASON: 'Intended wings.' How depressing.MICHAEL: Yes. Makes them into suicides, really, the pigeons.JASON: No - no, it doesn't. It could mean the wings were 'intended' to carry them upwards, out of the darkness, but they were defective in some way, these wings, so the pigeons aren't suicidal, not at all, just badly equipped for flying. Like the rest of us.

Simon Gray

THE DAY I ALMOST KILLED MYSELFIt was afternoon and the razorreflected the sky like like a mirror. The bath towelswere white like the bathtub and my wristswere white like the towels.The bathwater got lukewarm.The afternoon turned into lateafternoon and I was still pulling ropes of airinto my lungs like a sailor. The razor reflectedthe sunset. The bathwater got cold.The bath towels were white like the bathtub and my wrists were white like the towels.

Karen Finneyfrock

to live asubstance-freelife under thepressures ofthe daily grindis state-sponsoredsuicide

Phil Volatile

I hate forcing myself to go to bed to avoid committing suicide.

Phil Volatile

...but beautiful mosaics are made of broken pieces.

Lori Jenessa Nelson

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Poetry Quotes - Page 33

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